death of the cool

This weekend, most friends went off to this or that lake to celebrate the Fourth of July weekend. I was pretty bummed, because I wanted to go to a big concert in town Saturday night - a favorite rap group of mine, The Roots, was playing. Well, of the friends who stayed in town, the number of rap fans among them was 0, so I decided not to go. I went instead to my favorite coffee shop, and saw my old regular, Tom (name changed). He was considered one of the less-cool regulars (actually, all regulars were seen as somewhat uncool, as apparently they ought to be out doing much cooler things rather than sitting around drinking coffee every day. Which is pretty silly, considering they provided us with a lot of tips). But Tom was especially uncool because he had a pretty tough life, and came to the coffee house twice a day, by himself. We had a lot of former alcoholics in there who used to have a regular neighborhood bar; he may have been one. Anyway, Tom waved me over to come sit with him. I realized suddenly that since I was no longer trying to fit into the work culture there, and could go sit with him. We had a great discussion about absolutely nothing; the floods, the weather, stupid Des Moines crap. I forgot how much fun it was to shoot the shit with him. Still, I was feeling rather unhip, the one who had no plans for her Saturday, sitting with a possibly clinically depressed 50 year old dude. Then I realized: this was the person I liked hanging out with the most there. Also, this is what I like to do on my Saturday. I have a routine: I get up late, take a bath, and don't eat anything till about 1 pm. I finally get so hungry that I have to go to either the coffee house or smoothie place, chat with whoever's there, then head to the library, get lots of books and videos that I'll probably return late, and spend an hour looking at silly stuff on the internet. Then I go in to the studio and make up songs on the piano, none of which are going to be chart topping hits, but make me smile. Then I go home and call a friend or family member. Maybe it's not cool, but it's cool to me.

Oddly enough, I did end up passing by the concert and deciding to check it out from a distance. Some girl gave me her ticket, and I got in! It was fun, but I realized I would rather be somewhere making my own music then getting the smell of pot in my hair and watching somebody else live the dream. Maybe my Saturday routine's not so unhip after all.